THE N W YORKER was so hot that it was like walking over red-hot plowshares. "If I lived at Grifone, I think I should quite look forward to winter," she said. "\Vhat? I didn't hear." "I just said there must be a gorgeous view from Grifone." Presently, remarking that this was a short cut to the church, Miss Wilson stepped over a dead snake, scram bled up a precipice, and was out of sight. Struggling up the narrow path between the brambles, Fenella was obsessed with a fear that she would slip, roll to the bottom, lie there beside the snake, and he swarmed over by the ants that were swarming over it. The church squatted in an enclosure of long, sunburned grasses. Here and there black wire crosses rose out of the grass like thistles. It was a very small church, and quite ordinary, except for the porch, which was disproportionately ample and deep. Miss Wilson had al- ready set up her easel, the canvas was mounted, and she was standing back surveying it with a thoughtful expres- SIon. "Please, may I look? " Fenella asked. Miss V\Tilson made way for her. Fenella's first impression was discon- certing. Miss Wilson, after all, was only another of these clev- er modern artists. Yet the picture did not seem to be altogether an abstract; it looked more like d church the wrong wa) up. "Oh, but I like it' " She had not wanted to sound like Mamma, but the words came automatically, and she did. "Y ou haven't seen it yet. I was standing it on its head to see how it hangs together." Miss Wilson reversed the canvas. It now looked exactly like the church. " I " see. This sounded even more reminiscent of Mamma. She blushed furiously. Miss Wilson glanced up from unpacking the haver- sack. "My poor child, how hot } TOU look! Wh y don't la ., you go and sit in the JL church, and cool off?" At that moment Fenella had no mermaid charms for her, was not paintable, was not even pitiable-an af- fected chit. Dogged by her mother's voice, dogged, too, by the thought that the long grasses must certainly harbor a great many snakes whose hissings would be inaudible in that din of grass- hoppers, and reflectIng on the inade- quacy of all human relationships-she was not really cynical but there are some things one just has to admit- Fenella approached the church. The shade in the porch was as blinding as the sun outside. Beneath her tread there was suddenly a rattling, resound- ing vacancy, crossed by vacillating iron slats. She drew back. "Go on, go on! It's only to keep out animals," Miss Wilson called. I NSID E the church wa" silence, cool- ness, safety, a smell of piety and par- affin, a dimmed daylight, a small lamp steadfastly burning in a crimson glass shade. Fenella made a deep gen uflec- tion, crossed herself, spread her hand- kerchief on the floor, crossed herself again, and went down on her knees. Only then did she remember an omis- sion: dry crossings of oneself are com- paratively worthless. She ventured back into the porch, reawakened the rattling and the vacancy, found a holy-water stoup. "She surely can't be coming out already!" muttered Miss Wilson. Properly dampened, like linen before C? 55 ironing, Fenella returned to the hand- kerchief, and settled down to go on re- solving to become a Roman Catholic. Of course, it wasn't totally original- Peregrine Fielding had, and Luc) Trivett, and Mr. Walmisley. But in her case it would be different. They were all middle-aged-Mr. Walmisley was over forty, indeed, and could re- member Queen Mary's toques; their lives were behind them. She was thir- teen. Her passions were stronger than theirs, her need intenser. She wanted to escape from always feeling scornful, selfish, and lonely. She wanted to have a deep spiritual life that wouldn't always be leakIng away from her. She craved to be understood, and guided, and re- buked, and consoled, and to feel herself part of an all-embracing yet exclusively True Church. She longed to call some- one Father-someone not Popski. If only she could get inside-walk calmly and firmly over all the rows and ar- guments and amusement and expos- tulation as she had walked over the arrangement in the porch to keep out animals, and he christened all over again, and properly, with salt, and hold- ing a candle in her hand, and be called Chantal instead of horrid Fenella, like an advertisement of pajamas. But no one would possibly listen to her. No 1 A III 11111 JIIIIJ JI /fIll L J. .... LL 1- L LA- LL S-r